Chapter 11: Kalogeras Kiss I wasn’t done. Not even close. The gym was empty now, the overhead lights humming, casting long shadows across the court. My body throbbed with exhaustion, but my mind was still racing, a hamster wheel of Valeria’s face, Miguel’s smirk, and the ache of betrayal. I needed to scrub them out, every last trace. I picked up the ball again, dribbling hard, the sound echoing in the cavernous space. The repetitive motion, the feel of the leather against my fingertips, was almost hypnotic. I focused on that, on the present moment, trying to shut out the noise in my head. After another half-hour of shooting free throws, I knew that it was pointless to keep going – I couldn’t keep burying this down by myself. My body was screaming, and my mind wasn't calming down. I needed a distraction. A real one. My thumb hovered over my phone screen. There were dozens of unread messages, a mix of congrats and condolences, but one name stood out: Demitra Kalogeras. I scrolled through our previous texts, a string of playful banter and lighthearted flirting. Demitra was easy to talk to, funny as hell, and always up for a good time. Plus, she wasn’t involved in any of the drama swirling around my life right now. I knew what people would say if I went out with her so soon after the break up with Valeria. I didn't care. "Hey," I texted, "You busy?" The reply was almost instant. "For you? Never ;) What’s up?" A small smile tugged at my lips. "Ice cream? My treat." "Is that your smooth way of asking me on a date, Jimmy?" she responded. "What if it is?" I sent back, then, a pause. "Is that a problem?" "Nah, not at all." "Pick you up in 30?" I texted, and she said yes. It was a warm night for New York, the air thick with the smell of exhaust and street food. I pulled up to Demitra’s building in my dad’s old BMW, the engine sputtering slightly as I parked. Demitra was waiting outside, leaning against the brick wall, her long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She was wearing a tight black top and ripped jeans, her usual effortlessly cool vibe. God damn she was hot. “Hey, Feder,” she said, grinning as I got out of the car. “Looking a little rough around the edges. What’s up?” “Rough is my middle name,” I said, forcing a grin. “And it’s Jim, unless you wanna catch these hands.” She laughed, a throaty, infectious sound. “Alright, Jim. Where are we going for this ice cream date?” “Best place in the city,” I said, opening the passenger door for her. “You trust me?” “With my life?” She raised an eyebrow. “Nah. But with my ice cream cravings? Absolutely.” The drive was a blur of city lights and loud music. I blasted some Travis Scott, trying to drown out the lingering thoughts of Valeria. Demitra sang along, off-key but enthusiastic, her energy infectious. We ended up at a small, hole-in-the-wall ice cream shop in Little Italy, the kind of place that only locals knew about. The line was long, but the ice cream was worth it. “What are you getting?” I asked, as we inched closer to the counter. “Hmm, tough choice,” Demitra said, scanning the menu board. “Maybe the pistachio. Or the hazelnut. Or maybe both?” “Go big or go home,” I said, nudging her shoulder. “I’m getting the chocolate peanut butter swirl. Classic.” We ordered our ice cream and found a small table outside, the air buzzing with the sounds of the city. “So,” Demitra said, licking her cone. “What brings you here? Besides your insatiable craving for frozen dairy products.” I hesitated, swirling my spoon in the ice cream. “It’s… complicated,” I said, finally. “Complicated how?” she asked, her eyes narrowed with concern. “Boyfriend problems? Girlfriend drama? Or did you just realize you have a secret love for competitive eating?” I chuckled. “Girlfriend drama,” I admitted. “Ex-girlfriend drama, to be exact.” “Ah, the dreaded ex,” Demitra said, nodding knowingly. “Spill the tea, Feder. I’m all ears.” I took a deep breath and launched into the story, starting with Miguel’s arrival, Valeria’s suspicious behavior, and ending with the kiss that Kenny had witnessed. Demitra listened patiently, her expression shifting from amusement to sympathy as I spoke. “Damn, Jim,” she said, when I was finished. “That’s rough. I’m sorry, man.” “Yeah, well,” I shrugged. “It is what it is.” “No, it’s not,” Demitra said, her voice firm. “You deserve better than that. You deserve someone who’s gonna be honest with you, who’s gonna respect you, and who’s not gonna make you feel like you’re going crazy.” Her words hit me harder than I expected. I had been so focused on the betrayal, on the pain, that I hadn’t really stopped to think about what I deserved. “Thanks, Demitra,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “I needed to hear that.” “Anytime, Feder,” she said, squeezing my hand. “That’s what friends are for. Besides, you’re way too good for her. Duke, NBA scouts? She’s gonna regret that, trust me.” I laughed, the sound genuine this time. “You think so?” “I know so,” she said, winking. “Now, enough about her. Let’s talk about something more important. Like, what’s your favorite flavor of ice cream? Besides chocolate peanut butter swirl, obviously.” We spent the next hour talking about everything and nothing, laughing, joking, and just enjoying each other’s company. Demitra was a natural at making me feel comfortable, at distracting me from my pain. As we were finishing our ice cream, Demitra leaned closer, her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “You know,” she said, her voice soft. “I’ve always had a little crush on you, Feder.” My heart skipped a beat. I had always been attracted to Demitra, but I had never really considered her as more than a friend. “Is that so?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?” she countered, mirroring my earlier question. I shook my head, a slow smile spreading across my face. “Not at all.” Before I could say anything else, she leaned in and kissed me. Her lips were soft and warm, her tongue darting playfully against mine. It was a sweet, innocent kiss, a far cry from the rough, passionate encounters I had shared with Valeria. I kissed her back, my hand instinctively reaching for her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more intense. I grabbed her ass, squeezing gently, and she moaned softly against my lips. We broke apart, breathless, our eyes locked. “Wow,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Yeah, wow,” she agreed, grinning. We stood there for a moment, catching our breath, the city lights blurring around us. It was a perfect moment, a brief escape from the chaos of my life. I wasn't sure what the future held, but in that moment, with Demitra’s lips still tingling against mine, I felt a glimmer of hope. I pulled away, a smile tugging at my lips. “I should get you home.” “Don’t want to get caught up with your new girl,” Demitra said, before giggling. “I didn’t say that you were my girl Demitra,” I chuckled. I dropped Demitra off at her apartment, another quick kiss sealing the night, and headed home, feeling lighter than I had in days. — Friday evening arrived with a sense of impending doom. Tonight, Briarwood was facing off against last year's champions, a team known for their relentless defense and their star point guard, Jamal “The Hammer” Henderson. It was a huge game, a chance to prove that the Warriors were a force to be reckoned with. Normally, I would be buzzing with energy, pacing the locker room, shouting instructions, and psyching up my teammates. But tonight, I felt… nothing. Numb. Empty. The workout with Demitra, and the kiss, helped a lot with forgetting the past and starting anew, but it's going to take time to fully start fresh and to stop thinking about what Valeria did. I went through the motions of getting ready, pulling on my black-and-gold Briarwood training tee, slipping into my training shorts. My jersey was already at the arena, hanging in my locker alongside my teammates’. I methodically packed my duffle bag: basketball shoes (clean, but already broken in), an arm sleeve for my left arm, 3/4 compression leggings for my right leg, pre-wrap and tape, a full water bottle, a towel, gym socks, backup laces, a roll of chewing gum for the pre-match tactical analysis, and my mouthguard. As I laced up my shoes, I glanced around the locker room. Kenny was bouncing a basketball, his brow furrowed in concentration. Zion was listening to music, his eyes closed, his body swaying to the beat. Mike was stretching, his face grim. Torch was joking around with Skip, trying to lighten the mood. They were all ready. They were all focused. They were all counting on me. I forced myself to take a deep breath, to push aside the numbness, to find that spark of energy that always burned inside me. I was Jim Feder, captain of the Briarwood Warriors, and I wasn't going to let my personal problems affect my team. I stood up, my movements stiff and robotic. “Alright, let’s go,” I said, my voice flat. The team looked at me, their faces a mixture of concern and confusion. They could sense that something was wrong, that I wasn't myself. “You okay, Jim?” Kenny asked, his voice hesitant. “I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Let’s just focus on the game.” We walked out of the locker room and onto the court, the roar of the crowd washing over us. The stands were packed, filled with students, parents, and even a few celebrities. I scanned the crowd, my eyes searching for a familiar face. I saw my mom and dad, sitting courtside, waving enthusiastically. I saw Greg and Nancy, sitting a few rows back, looking bored. I saw Becky, bouncing up and down, her eyes wide with excitement. And then I saw them: LeBron, Bronny, Drake, Ice Spice, Kevin Hart, David Alvareezy, and the Kalogeras sisters, all sitting together in a VIP section near the baseline. They were all here to watch me play. The weight of their expectations settled on my shoulders, crushing me. I had to perform. I had to be the Jim Feder that everyone expected me to be. But how could I, when all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and disappear? I forced myself to focus on the game, on the task at hand. I had a team to lead, a championship to win, and a reputation to uphold. I walked to center court for the pre-game warm-ups, my movements automatic. I dribbled the ball, shot a few jumpers, and ran through the plays, my mind blank. Coach Harper called us over for a final pep talk. “Alright, guys,” he said, his voice booming. “This is it. This is what we’ve been working for all season. Last year’s champs. They’re tough, they’re physical, but they’re not unbeatable.” He paused, his eyes locking with mine. “Jim, I need you to lead this team tonight. I need you to be the floor general, the playmaker, the scorer that I know you can be. Can you do that?” I hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, Coach,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I can do that.” “Good,” Coach Harper said, clapping me on the back. “Now let’s go out there and show them what we’re made of.” We broke the huddle and took our positions on the court, the starting lineup: Kenny at center, Zion at power forward, Mike at small forward, Torch at shooting guard, and me at point guard. I looked across the court at Jamal Henderson, his eyes cold and calculating. He was a formidable opponent, a worthy adversary. But tonight, I didn't care about the competition. I didn't care about the championship. I didn't care about anything. I was just going through the motions, a shell of my former self. The referee blew the whistle, signaling the start of the game. The crowd erupted, the noise deafening. The ball was tossed in the air, Kenny and Jamal leaping for the tip-off. Kenny won, tapping the ball back to me. I caught the ball, dribbled once, and looked up at the basket. The court stretched out before me, a blur of colors and movement. My mind was blank, my body numb. I was ready to play, yet... I was empty. I was ready to face all the faces in the audience, yet... I was a shell. I was at the warm up, yet... nothing felt warm.